Sunday, April 10, 2016

10:05 PM

Losing Time

My mother wasn’t a kind woman.

She had a deep love, for those that she loved.

But her words were always tinged with cynicism,

Her gratitude with emptiness,

Her delight with the knowledge,

But not the understanding,

That it is all fleeting.

A year has gone by since I’ve told stories of my life.

A year has gone by songless.

And though I’ve tried, to catalogue my experience.

I only feel dumbfounded, speechless, and delirious.

Time is a ride.

We are drivers, and passengers of time.

And sometimes in the backseat, we sleep.

Time is a ride.

A year has gone by,

With memories I don’t get to keep.